Ryan blinked in the bright light, which, along with the lack of dust and cobwebs, suggested a well-used room they had better leave. Suits of armor and weapons lined the walls, gleaming as if new. He turned to the others and found himself alone. Maybe they hadn’t come through the door after him, but then he saw that even that was gone, too. In its place stood a solid wall.
Maybe the door is camouflaged, he thought, pulled off a glove to feel for a seam, but his fingertips felt only the natural pits and chips in the limestone. He was about to call out to see if they could hear him on the other side when a door creaked behind him.
He turned as a warrior in dusky black armor strode in, malice in every step, a short plume of white feathers atop its helmeted head. The raised visor revealed a dark elf’s cruel features. The elf unsheathed a black sword, metal ringing with the motion as it advanced on him, its metal-shod feet clanging with every step like the tolling of a bell. Death had come for him at last.
Ryan fumbled for his own sword, stepping forward to avoid being cornered and looking for an escape, but he saw only the door beyond his attacker. As if reacting to his thoughts, it slammed shut, locks clanking furiously on the far side. The elf struck at him, their blades clanging once, twice, three times. Ryan’s defenses steadily pulled his sword to one side, exposing his front, and the dark blade struck at his chest, bouncing off the armor.
Stepping back and regrouping, Ryan parried several blows imperfectly. He got the impression the elf was testing his defenses, for the elf didn’t take every opening, instead looking for all the faults to form an overall strategy. Lorian had taught Ryan how to do it and now he knew the ploy was being used on him.
And so Ryan went on the offensive to disrupt him. At first the elf seemed surprised, but a few strokes later Ryan stepped back with a gasp, holding his side, where a deep cut oozed blood. His poor assault had let the elf’s blade slip between the plates.
No more attacks unless something comes up, he decided, sobering up. It’s my turn to test and evaluate.
Time after time the swords crossed, the elf faster, the knight better protected, Korrin’s armor impervious to the elf’s sword unless a stabbing blow made it through the chainmail. Ryan’s strikes badly dented the other’s armor but happened too infrequently. The elf’s blade stabbed him again and again, a half dozen cuts oozing blood, and yet the elf had only one meaningful wound to his unused arm. Ryan was losing and not getting more blows to land.
As if realizing this, the elf began striking the same wounds over and over but not making them worse, just causing more pain. Being tortured to death wasn’t on Ryan’s agenda and he grew angry. He suddenly realized the elf had become predictable. Sacrificing his left leg to the next attack, he didn’t bother with the expected defense, already swinging hard at the surprised elf instead.
Both blows struck home, Ryan’s only stinging while the elf received a deep gash that likely cracked ribs. Wild relief and anger surged within Ryan and he pressed forward, hammering down at the retreating elf’s sword arm. And suddenly he realized his strength made up for his skill. He’d been afraid to use that strength since hurting Daniel so long ago, but now rage set him free and he slammed the sword down again and again. It forced the elf to hold his blade with both hands, eliminating any one-handed maneuverability. Still using only one arm himself, Ryan punched the elf in the face with the other, feeling grim satisfaction as he knocked the elf backward.
It was a mistake, for the elf regrouped and returned to the fight meaning business but seeming wary as they circled each other. A flurry of quick strikes kept Ryan from delivering a big swing. Cuts began to appear on him, a terrible wound causing him to limp and poorly support his weight, another making his left hand unresponsive. He grew lightheaded from blood loss, his judgment slipping.
Maybe that’s why his sword arm dropped suddenly. The elf lunged and Ryan hauled the sword upward, blades crashing together and rising above their heads. With a crash he head-butted the elf’s face with his helmet, knocking him back and then slamming the sword into the elf’s thigh, down to the bone.
With a shriek, the elf fell to one knee but still tried to stab the knight through the belly. Seeing it coming, Ryan brought his sword down on his foe’s neck, cutting deep through armor, bone, and sinew, nearly beheading him. Blood sprayed all over Ryan, whose anger abruptly vanished at what he’d done, the ghastly mortal wound spurting blood with each heartbeat. The elf would be dead in a minute, but not if Ryan used the last and most powerful healing spell in the Trinity Ring. He bent to use the ring but then stopped short.
The last time he healed an enemy, Eric nearly got killed. This time it would be himself. His wounds weren’t life threatening but he’d lose another fight if not healed. His friends, Daniel, and everyone on this world were depending on him. Besides, he wasn’t ready to die. And Lorian was right. An aggressor brought death upon themselves. The choice had been made. Seeing the dark elf’s still angry eyes on him, Ryan snapped out of his
